inextinguishable: motif and tonality in the fourth symphony · fanning 1997: 13).2 1 min første...
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Chapter Five
Inextinguishable: motif and tonality in the Fourth Symphony
5.1 – Introduction
When asked about a title for his Fifth Symphony in an interview for Politiken, Nielsen
made some illuminating remarks on what all (his) music ultimately expresses:
My first symphony was also untitled. But then came “The Four Temperaments”, “The
Espansiva” and “The Inextinguishable”, actually just different names for the same thing,
the only thing that music in the end can express: resting forces as opposed to active
ones (cited in Fanning 1997: 97)1
It is the articulation of resting and active forces in terms of the modalities of être and
faire that I have principally been concerned with in this dissertation: from the
dramatization of Classical tonal structures in Beethoven, through the interplay between
an essentially static C major and an energising G minor in Nielsen‟s First Symphony, to
the portrayal of human character in The Four Temperaments.
The conflict in Nielsen‟s Fourth Symphony is more violent and it also embraces more
fully the sort of fundamental dichotomies that the composer would later discuss in
relation to the Fifth Symphony:
if the first movement [of the Fifth] was passivity, here [in the second movement] it is
action (or activity) which is conveyed. So it‟s something very primitive I wanted to
express: the division of dark and light, the battle between evil and good‟ (cited in
Fanning 1997: 13).2
1 Min første Symfoni var ogsaa navnløs. Men saa kom ‘De fire Temperamente’, ‘Espansiva’ og ‘Det
uudslukkelige’, egentlig blot forskellige Navne paa det samme, det eneste, som Musiken til syvende og
sidst kan udtryyke: de hvilende Kræfter i Modsætning til de aktiv. Politiken 24 January 1922.
2 var første Sats Passiviteten er der hér Aktionen (Handlingen), som faar Udtryk: Fordelingen af Skygge
og Lys, Kampen mellem Ondt og Godt. Reported in Dolleris 1949: 260.
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As The Inextinguishable progresses from its stormy beginning to the triumphant blaze of
E major with which the Symphony ends, Nielsen ranges from moments of indolent
torpor, through the genteel Poco Allegretto to the famous passages in the finale where
two timpani players conduct a battle across the orchestra that at one point almost silences
it altogether. I aim to expand my analytical approach in this chapter in order to describe
in more precise terms how Nielsen deploys these more extreme contrasts.
The Inextinguishable runs continuously but falls into four movements that correspond to
a fairly traditional scheme: Allegro; Poco allegretto; Poco adagio quasi andante and
Allegro. Simpson characterizes the second movement as an intermezzo (1979: 83) and,
although by no means lightweight, it is distinctly parenthetical, evoking a pastoral G
major idyll away from the main conflicts of the work. The intense and concentrated third
movement, on the other hand, provides important harmonic, motivic and emotional
context for the final movement, into which it runs without break. Without completely
neglecting these inner movements, I will nevertheless concentrate on the first and last,
for it is in these that the forces and dramas in which I am interested are most clearly
embodied. Figure 37 provides an outline of the symphony. Bars are numbered according
to the Carl Nielsen Edition (Copenhagen, 2000), whilst rehearsal numbers are the same
in this and the older Wilhelm Hansen Edition (Copenhagen, 1916/1944).
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Fig. 37 – Outline of The Inextinguishable
5.2 – Motivic analysis and musical categories
It is the blazing E major conclusion that has set the agenda for most of the published
writing on this work. The wild and exhilarating confidence of the arrival in this key and
the final drawing together of motivic fragments have encouraged analysts to seek out
goal-directed processes that ultimately subsume the various ambiguities and
disjunctions. Robert Simpson, who has heavily influenced the tone of Anglo-American
analytical writing on the work, provides a prime example of this approach: on the one
hand he shows how Nielsen‟s melodies appear to build up a network of motivic
interrelationships with „the completest spontaneity‟ (1979: 85); on the other, he
discusses the way in which, „the symphony evolves E major out of apparent chaos‟
(: 77).
Harald Krebs and David Fanning in The Nielsen Companion (1994) offer new
perspectives on aspects of the symphony that sit fairly comfortably alongside this
approach, supplementing rather than challenging Simpson‟s goal-directed, „evolutionary‟
interpretation. Krebs locates Nielsen‟s „progressive‟ tonality within the wider context of
post-Wagnerian symphonic writing, while Fanning explores the thematic evolution of
the second subject as an example of „progressive thematicism‟. Tyler White‟s 1991
dissertation, on the other hand, explicitly rejects Simpson‟s notion of goal keys,
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complaining that they „act as abstract, unseen, and all too frequently unheard presences
motivating the harmonic course of events‟ (1991: xxii). He employs instead a
combination of harmonic, Schenkerian and motivic analysis, an approach that eventually
leads him to the bizarre conclusion – not shared by any other serious commentator – that
the final transition to E major in the Fourth Symphony is „a singularly disappointing
miscalculation‟ (: 119).3 Even so, taking White‟s motivic analysis as a starting point, I
want, in the first section of this chapter, to develop a broadly motivic approach to The
Inextinguishable that can be enhanced by the semiotic tools already established.
In concluding his study of the Fourth Symphony, White sets out his understanding of
what is inextinguishable about this music:
the most enduring tension Nielsen exploits is that between the very notion of musical
coherence, with all its intimations of organicism and unified wholeness, and the
unassimilable, the fortuitous, the irreconcilable (: 121)
White‟s analysis aims to show how the more disparate elements of the Symphony are
ultimately subsumed into a unified whole through motivic connections and extensions of
common-practice voice leading, arguing in a footnote that „motivic relationships
between contrasting themes form an important unifying device for the Fourth
Symphony‟s dramatic narrative aspect‟ (: 27). The notion that motivic coherence is the
inextinguishable element of the Fourth Symphony – even a main protagonist in its
overarching narrative – offers an intriguing alternative to Simpson‟s key-based drama.
As an example of White‟s approach, Example 65a shows the beginning of the second
subject of the first movement, which he analyses as „three intervallic orderings of a
diatonic tetrachord‟ (1991: 52) that together form motif-group C. One connection that
his motivic chart highlights is b. 12, which he suggests prefigures the „thematic
exposition‟ of this group with a retrograde of the motif Cc. This is not a motivic
3 He attributes this to fact that the climactic arrival on E major at the beginning of the coda is arrived at
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connection that becomes relevant in my own analysis, whilst White, with his more
formal approach, understandably ignores the correspondence between the two passages
in Example 65b (marked Y). This discrepancy exposes some fundamental differences in
both methodology and motivation.
Ex. 65a – Example of White’s motif-group C
(see Table 6 in White 1991: 50)
Ex. 65b – Nielsen IV, bb. 4-6 and 779-84 (motif Y)
from E (at b. 1128) through a pivot chord of A, a progression he considers weak.
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Before exploring why I think that the passages in Example 65b are meaningfully related,
I want to discuss the rationale behind White‟s analysis in Example 65as. If b. 12 can be
understood as a representative of motif-group C, an almost limitless (and therefore
potentially meaningless) network of correspondences could be drawn between various
orderings of these basic diatonic fragments. White acknowledges this, but considers that
this strengthens his reading:
… by assigning an inescapable thematic significance to so elemental and functionally
flexible a group of pitches, Nielsen has provided himself with a potentially vast field of
thematic association. The relatively restricted way the composer actually uses the
material, then, becomes a powerful contributor toward the work‟s thematic unity (: 52).
He also explains that his account „does not purport to be an exhaustive motivic analysis‟,
and that further connections are „likely better explained with reference to characteristic
intervallic contours of tonal contrapuntal figuration‟ (: 26-7). It would be futile to
quibble over how White decides which motifs are better explained as „characteristic
intervallic contours‟, and I am not really trying to pick holes in his methodology, but
rather to highlight the fundamental differences in purpose between our respective
interpretations of motivic similarity.
By showing how „motivic interaction … serves to bind all four movements together in a
larger process of thematic reference and transformation‟ (: 26), a process which he traces
right into the background tonal structure,4 White is following a distinguished tradition of
uncovering hidden connections. John Rothgeb‟s essay on thematic analysis (cited in
White‟s bibliography) sets out a fairly orthodox position, suggesting that Schenkerian
analysis „supplies an indispensable testing ground for thematic hypotheses; more
importantly it promotes the hearing of relationships wherever and however they may be
manifested‟ (1983: 42). One of the principal motivations for undertaking this type of
analysis appears to be the facilitation of qualitative assessment, as is evidenced by
4 See White‟s Example 3.43 (1991: 120) in which he shows how variants of his A and B motif groups
connect main key centres across the first three movements.
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Rothgeb‟s comment on one of his examples: „it is the integration into such an inversion
of a concealed repetition that elevates Handel‟s idea and its execution to a higher artistic
plane‟ (: 43).
White takes this analytical stance to a new level in suggesting that an expanding network
of motivic interactions and correspondences represents the main dramatic focus of the
work. For White the motivic integration is not only a measure of the coherence of the
work – allowing Nielsen to „transcend apparent inconsistencies in stylistic idiom‟ (: 121)
– but it represents a process that is at times dramatically foregrounded:
The finale‟s most striking motivic interaction, however, occurs in the movement‟s
climactic final timpani duel … The motivic saturation of this passage confirms the
overarching sense of the symphony‟s thematic process, its “current” – that the work as
a whole represents not so much a conflict between polar opposites of thematic and
harmonic substance, as a prolonged interaction of varied motivic material that binds
several clearly articulated single-movement formal types into a larger formal and
dramatic continuum. (: 66-7)
Whilst various types of coherence are clearly vital to Nielsen‟s musical dramas (I have
already discussed prolongational coherence in terms of savoir être in his First and
Second symphonies), this is not the only possible rationale for undertaking motivic
analysis.
Tarasti, after Kurth, suggests that „the fundamental character of a motif is based on the
play of its inherent forces‟ (: 101), and goes on to suggest that the action of these forces
might be interpreted semiotically – a strategy that lies at the heart of this dissertation.
From this point of view, the analysis of motivic correspondences is not undertaken only
to demonstrate coherence, but becomes an opportunity to compare the modalities
projected by similar melodic material in different circumstances and configurations. In
other words, while White‟s interest is primarily in a complex network of parallelisms
that enables the triumph of coherence over disparity, mine is in exploring how varying
presentations of similar figures can be described modally.
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As is clear from Example 65b, my methodology is therefore only motivic in a relatively
loose sense of the word. But this shift of focus away from the formal motivic
relationships documented by White (see Table 6 in 1991: 50-51 for more examples)
towards more informal similarities of melodic contour is necessitated by the nature of
my semiotic inquiry. David Lidov, for one, has made it clear that he believes that a
theme or motif can only take part in the process of signification under certain conditions:
When musical forms and figures are subject to play, that is, freely varied so as to retain
their identity while losing their character, they are abstracted from their content. Such
disassociation is a general basis of sign genesis. Until the theme and its character are
thus teased apart, I am not sure it is natural to call one a sign of the other (1982: 160-1)
Whilst White‟s motifs obviously appear in different configurations and contexts, and his
analysis is not inherently incompatible with Lidov‟s conception, one might nevertheless
choose somewhat different criteria and standards of similarity in order to explore this
sort of play of theme and character (or motif and modality).
It is in this spirit that I link figures such as those shown in Example 65b. Although they
could be related by traditional motivic analysis, they are probably better thought of as
constituting a musical category, a notion developed by Lawrence Zbikowski in his recent
book Conceptualizing Music. On the strength of a range of developments in cognitive
research, Zbikowski places categorization at the heart of a wide-ranging review of music
theory and analysis, going so far as to suggest that „if to think is to think in terms of
categories, then to think of music is to think in terms of musical categories.‟ (: 59).
To look first at a non-musical category, Figure 38 (taken from Zbikowski‟s book) shows
how a wren, for example, has values for the attributes of „sound‟ and „locomotion‟ that
correspond with what might be considered most typical of the category of „bird‟ (typical
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values are marked with an asterisk).5 A chicken, on the other hand, would be considered
much less typical – (mostly) walking and clucking rather than flying and chirping.
Fig. 38 – Avian and motivic categories
i) ii)
Zbikowski goes on to discuss how categories can be viewed as structured around a set of
typical values in the form of a conceptual model, which is „conditioned by knowledge
about the overall goals of categorization‟ (: 46). This is the case in the second diagram of
Figure 38, in which the conceptual model of what might constitute a typical instance of
the opening motif from Beethoven‟s Fifth Symphony is „informed by our ideas about
musical themes: that is, such themes should be strongly and clearly stated at privileged
points‟ (: 47).6
Although such ideas, which Zbikowski calls global models (: 47-8), inform the
conceptual models that structure the categories through which we understand a particular
piece, categorization itself is not wholly static or a priori, but formed as „an active
response to the environment, it always has a temporal dimension‟ (: 51). Furthermore,
although the duplications of pitch and rhythm that form the basis of ordinary motivic
descriptors are important aspects of the „conceptual model‟ around which a musical
category might be organized, Zbikowski argues that „categories can be much more
5 A full „frame diagram‟ for this category would include a large number of other attributes not shown here
– Zbikowski has in addition „size‟ and „colour‟ (2002: 42).
6 Zbikowski also discusses how this sort of conceptual model does not necessarily privilege those values
that are statistically typical. As his Figure 1.3 (2002: 45) shows, Beethoven‟s motif is much more often
quiet and solo than it is loud and tutti.
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various and structured around whatever set of musical relationships seems best to
account for what is salient about a particular repertoire‟ (: 59). The categories that one
might use in an analysis can therefore be flexible in their criteria and responsive to the
compositional strategies of the particular piece under examination.7
Zbikowski gives a relatively familiar example of this flexibility in practice in an analysis
of the Leidensmotiv from Tristan and Isolde. He groups together three particular
instances of this motif into a subordinate category, defined not by so much by melodic
and rhythmic similarity as because:
Wagner privileges them within his musical discourse. Not only is there nothing else to
compete with them at the moment of their appearance, but also their participation in
this pivotal moment suggests that they are autonomous agents within the drama itself.
(: 52)
This approach is very useful for pointing out correspondences in which the motivic link
is rather loose but where other factors justify the comparison. This is the case with the
two passages in Example 65b above and also for the various other categories proposed in
the main body of the analysis below. Figure 39 proposes speculative conceptual models
around which White‟s motif-group Cc and the motif marked Y in Example 65b might be
structured as categories. White‟s motif-group is defined very narrowly in terms of pitch
but is unspecific as to any other attributes; mine is less prescriptive as regards pitch
content but narrowed by the presence of additional parameters. Though debatable, the
assumptions behind White‟s categorization - in essence that the distribution and
interaction of similar but related material guarantees the coherence of the musical text -
have a distinguished pedigree and are therefore left more or less unchallenged in his
dissertation. The rationale behind my own categorization will (I hope) be justified in
7 Zbikowski introduces „compositional strategy‟ as a term for when „certain aspects of the systematic
quality associated with musical syntax are determined by the expressive goals of the individual ultimately
responsible for arranging the musical materials‟ (: 138). However, I am not using it here in this very
specific sense.
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practice by the analyses that follow; but this grouping of figures – and the resulting
interpretation in terms of subtle differences in their modal content – relies partly on the
status of categories in music theory as proposed by Zbikowski.
Fig. 39 – A comparison of motivic categorizations
i) ii)
To explore informally what I shall later be analysing in terms of modalities, the two
passages in Example 65b share certain motivic features, notably a descending stepwise
diatonic figure that I have marked as motif Y. What links these two passages is not their
pitch content, however, so much as their context: they both occur immediately after a
passage of tonal uncertainty dominated by tritone motifs. Unlike White‟s category, in
which every member contributes to the overall sense of coherence that the motivic
category communicates, these correspondences are not necessarily significant in their
own right. If the similarities are sufficiently pronounced, however, they justify
comparison of the two passages as instances of the same category, and this makes any
differences between them of potential interpretative significance. At this stage I am only
using these two passages as an example. It might be that the distance between them
prohibits such a hearing, particularly if they are the only members of the category. This
objection aside, one could make a number of observations.
Motif Y represents a force of tonal order in the context of the passages in Example
65b. In the first, from the opening of the work, Y introduces a clearly diatonic figure into
a situation where the hierarchy of the diatonic scale has become uncertain. The
suggestion that there is a connection between these two instances makes relevant the fact
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that the relative stability that Y brings is different in each case. In the first example, the
decorated diatonic descent of a fourth from d3 to a2 unfolds within the preceding tritone,
which continues in the timpani and is soon in conflict with a number of other melodic
strands. The diatonicism of motif Y is therefore unsupported in the texture and, in this
sense, fails to bring immediate tonal order.
In the second example from the last movement of the symphony, motif Y is tonally
supported: the tritones in the timpani disappear, and the diatonic F ^3–^2–^1 melodic
outline displaces the preceding whole-tone material. If Y fails in the first example to
bring tonal order, here it succeeds, at least temporarily. This difference raises the
possibility that one of the narrative threads in the Fourth Symphony might be an attempt
by some agent represented by motif Y to help bring about (or in Simpson‟s terms evolve)
the tonal order with which the symphony ends. These ideas need further exploration, but
it is reasonable to suggest that this sort of category can be, as Zbikowski puts it, „a place
where the concerns of listeners and the concerns of composer‟s meet‟ (: 139).
This example of a category and the conceptual model around which it is organized
suggests how a more flexible approach to motivic analysis may open windows onto new
interpretations. In the further discussion of Example 65b and the opening paragraph of
the symphony, these notions are brought together with the Schenkerian and modal
approach familiar from previous chapters.
5.2.1 – Modal interpretation of musical categories (an example)
Example 66 provides a modal interpretation of the second passage from Example
65b. The descending third progression wrests a brief moment of F minor stability from
the whole-tone maelstrom of the preceding timpani duel, striving for tonal order out of
the preceding chaos. The progression not only projects the relative order of diatonic
hierarchy as outlined above but also implies the resolution of local tonal closure by
descending to ^1.
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Ex. 66 – Nielsen IV, bb.781-3
As suggested in previous chapters, the resolution of tension from ^3 to ^1 can be
described by the modality of vouloir être, and this virtualized modality, projected in the
inner spatial dimension of a melody, might or might not be actualized in a given context
– described in terms of pouvoir. In this case, the passage in Example 66 would embody
not only the vouloir être of a resolution onto ^1, but also the pouvoir être of the
figure‟s „ability‟ to actualize this resolution. Schenker takes the general devoir non-faire
of tonal space for granted (i.e. the obligation to resolve dissonances), but he also insists
on a more specific devoir être in connection with the Urlinie – arrival on ^1, when „all
tensions in a musical work cease‟ (1979: 13). In this case the linear progression is
notionally a subject and tonal closure is the ultimate object. The identity of the
competent subject that strives for this conjunction is less clear - who or what says „it
must‟? In answer, Schenker draws an analogy between this goal and the goals one strives
for in life. It seems that desire and necessity for fulfilment are for Schenker categories of
thought (or even soul), somehow virtual in both sender and receiver of a musical sign,
actualized in different art forms in different ways:
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Ultimately it will be possible to set forth the highest principle which is common to all the
arts: the principle of inner tension and its corresponding outward fulfilment, a principle
which manifests itself differently in different material. Man lives his whole life in a state
of tension. Rarely does he experience fulfilment; art alone bestows on him fulfilment,
but only through selection and condensation. (1935: xxiv)
In the Fourth Symphony we see tension fulfilment (or resolution) threatened in various
ways, and this is one of the central points upon which my interpretation of the work
turns. I agree with White‟s suggestion that the symphony is somehow about overcoming
a threat to musical coherence, but, unlike him, I perceive this as a threat not to motivic
unity but to the music‟s ability, on multiple levels, to resolve its tonal tensions, and by
extension, perhaps, its ability to bestow Schenker‟s fulfilment.
By interpreting b. 781 in terms of Greimasian modalities, I am positing the falling third
as an actor and interpreting it anthropomorphically. As in the above quote from
Schenker, this involves projecting human narrative categories of thought onto motion
through tonal (inner) space. Although the modalities of vouloir and devoir être are
implicit in the Schenkerian understanding of tonality, in Nielsen‟s music they becomes
dramatised through being challenged. The more extreme challenges of The
Inextinguishable mean that the modality of pouvoir takes on a new importance: it is
made pertinent by the increased presence of its opposite (non-pouvoir), which is
manifested in various failures of tonal progressions to achieve their normative
resolutions.
5.2.2 – Motivic categories in the first paragraph of The Inextinguishable
The C major at the beginning of Example 67 is the first harmony that is sustained for any
length of time. The diatonic quaver motif (Example 68), played in octave unison, marks
a sharp harmonic and textural disjunction from the opening tutti, which has been
characterized by uncertain tonality, insistent tritones and what Simpson describes as „two
conflicting streams of fire‟ (1979: 77) in the strings and woodwind.
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Ex. 67 – Nielsen IV, bb. 12-37
As shown in Example 67, the overall middleground trajectory of the remainder of the
opening paragraph is a relatively normative I-III-VI.8 The narrative interpretation of the
tonal and other forces that animate this framework is the focus of the following analysis,
which posits motivic category Y(a), structured around five attributes:9
descending
stepwise
span of a third
at (or close to) the foreground level
articulated into a discernible unit by motivic or textural means
As with Example 66, I treat these descending thirds as actors in a narrative, and the
interpretative advantage of grouping them in the same category is that they can then be
understood as appearances of the same actor in different situations.
8 C major is only a temporary point of tonal reference and its stability is short-lived.
9 If the labelling of this motivic category as Y(a) seems a little arbitrary, it is merely to conform with the
full motivic analysis later in the chapter.
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Ex. 68 – Nielsen IV, bb. 12-24
As summarized in Figure 40, the first ten bars of this passage (Example 68) are open to
narrative interpretation in at least two dimensions. Most obviously, a move from
disjunction to conjunction can be seen in Nielsen‟s dramatic use of the orchestra. The
strings and wind are pitted against each other at the beginning of the extract, but by the
end they are co-operating as part of a more integrated texture.
This conjunction of instrumental protagonists parallels a subtle narrative involving the
Y(a) motif. The final descending-third progression in this extract represents a motion
towards a local point of maximum resolution (^1/I). As with Example 66, one might
project not only vouloir être onto this third progression but also pouvoir être: the actor
represented by Y(a) wants to move towards the conjunction of tonal closure (être) and is
able to do so, also fulfilling the omnipresent devoir être of Schenkerian tonal space.10
10 See p. 65 for more discussion of devoir être.
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From this perspective, the previous two descending-third progressions in Example 68
(starting at bb. 15 and 19) are less able to effect closure and thus might be said to project
non-pouvoir être. The vouloir non-faire of the first descending third (in the bass from
b. 15) is heightened by a B% harmonization of the passing note. Although this represents
a local resolution, the third-progression ends on the root of V (g) and therefore is unable
to resolve the wider tonic/dominant tension (non-pouvoir être). Similarly the devoir être
that modalizes the descent from ^5 to ^3 (bb. 19-21) is left unfulfilled, so again the
third-progression is unable completely to resolve tension, despite the repeated V-I in the
bass.
As seen in Figure 40, motif Y(a) increasingly resolves local tonal tension as the passage
from bb. 12-24 unfolds, ultimately in the key of E minor rather than in the initial C
major. The vouloir être of ^3–^2–^1 in bb.22-4 is reinforced by the fact that the
descending minims in b. 23 (from b to e) form a much more emphatic cadential
progression than the fleeting c1 in bb. 19-21.
Fig. 40 – Summary of modalities and texture in Example 68
My suggestion is that this can be understood in terms of pouvoir – it is not only that Y(a)
does increasingly resolve tension but that it is able to. The obvious objection to this
reading is that, as many passages of tonal music involving descending thirds might be
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interpreted in similar terms, the narrative is too generic to have much interpretational
value. As with the ^2/^3 drama in Beethoven‟s Fourth Symphony (discussed in Chapter
2), however, the question is whether or not the normative is dramatically foregrounded.
Nielsen makes the ability of third-progressions to be tonally resolved (pouvoir être)
pertinent by drawing attention to situations in which they are unable so to be (non-
pouvoir être).
An example of this can be found at the end of the opening paragraph. The passage
shown in Example 69 contains progressions that fit into the motivic category Y(a) as
details of the orchestration, shown by the brackets, articulate the descending line into
discernible thirds. As can be seen from Example 67, there is no threat to middleground
tonal stability – the foregoing passage is an elaboration of a middleground dominant of
A and resolves accordingly – but on a local level the descending thirds are awash on a
sea of shifting chromatic harmony. Towards the end of the passage they start to
contradict the E pedal which has previously been their tonal anchor, and the projected
modalities therefore change: first to the vouloir faire of a descending third from ^8 to a
dissonant ^6; then there is no will to escape this tension as the thirds progress between
dissonant notes (non-vouloir non-faire).
Ex. 69 – Nielsen IV, bb. 27-34
In terms of ability to be tonally closed, there is a clear shift from pouvoir être towards
non-pouvoir être, but by opening out this opposition onto a semiotic square we can also
understand this passage in terms of a shift between two slightly different modalities.
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Fig. 41 – Semiotic square of pouvoir and être
At b. 27, the music settles into a confident triple-time tutti. The dovetailing in the
orchestration, plus the constant dynamic and ostinato in the bass all suggest a „cursive‟
modulation of becoming.11 At bb. 29-30, for example, the combination (or convocation)
of vouloir être and non-pouvoir être with this protractive modulation of becoming
results in a semiotic style that might be described as contented: the music appears happy
to ride a wave of chromatic dissonances that are not so much disruptive as contributors
to harmonic richness. The fact that the harmonies deny resolution causes no apparent
problem, and this could be described in terms of pouvoir non-être – the descending
thirds are able not to be tonally closed.
From b. 32, however, where the upper descending thirds cease to prolong the basic E
major harmony, the music suddenly begins to diminuendo, instruments drop out and
there is a slight rallentando. The modulation of becoming is now „closing‟ as the music
dies away, and this, convoked with the non-vouloir non-faire of the harmonically
dislocated thirds might be described as a semiotic style of collapse or breakdown. From
the point of view of the descending thirds as a narrative actor, they now project the
opposite modality from before: non-pouvoir non-être – the inability to cope with the lack
of tonal resolution or closure. The sudden liquidation completely overshadows the initial
resolution of the middleground V of A, which is very low in pouvoir (in the Tarastian
sense). The E major resolves onto a single A in the violins whilst the timpani continue to
rumble out an E. Although this dominant pedal soon resolves as the second subject
11 See p. 168 ff. for a discussion of this concept.
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flowers in A major, the initial effect of the cadence onto A is not one of arrival but of
petering out.
In the Second Symphony I suggested that the non-savoir être of the choleric
temperament was only effective against the contrasting savoir être of normative
prolongational hierarchy. With regard to The Inextinguishable, it is tempting to invert
White‟s suggestion that the motivic integration allows Nielsen to „transcend apparent
inconsistencies in stylistic idiom‟ (: 121); the motivic drama only comes to life precisely
because of the „inconsistencies‟ that form this play of opposites. The descending third
not only makes this opening passage cohere, it becomes dramatically significant through
its prominent appearance in a variety of contexts.
5.2.3 – Changing contexts: the second subject as actor
The sinuous chains of falling parallel thirds that begin the second subject of the first
movement (and return at the end of the last) are a source of relative stability; they
acquire a certain quality that Fanning has characterized as a „fitness to stand against
adversity‟ (1994: 188). During work on The Inextinguishable, Nielsen alluded to this
theme in a conversation with Thorvald Nielsen:
I‟ve also a subsidiary theme in the first movement, it runs in parallel thirds for some
time. It is not quite like me, but it came out that way, so it‟s going to be like that all the
same (Nielsen 1965: 12)
If Nielsen initially felt that this second subject theme was „not quite like‟ him (it is, in
fact, very much like Sibelius), this did not stop the various descending third and fourth
progressions based on this material coming to dominate, not only in the second subject
group, but in the symphony as a whole. My motivic reading of The Inextinguishable
centres on two broad categories: rising arpeggios (which I shall label X) and falling
stepwise thirds and fourths (Y). At the heart of the second of these is the second subject,
and I want to look at some appearances of the second subject material before exploring
the work chronologically in terms of the broader motivic categories.
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The descending fourth-progression from ^5 that opens the second subject is presented in
two harmonic configurations, both of which are demonstrated in the first two
presentations of this subject group in the first movement. The only substantial change is
that the first takes place over a dominant pedal in the viola (Example 70a) whereas the
second (Example 70b) is underpinned by an elaborated double pedal, changing the main
orientation of the phrase from V to I. This makes a subtle but noticeable difference to the
linear structure of the phrase that in turn changes the modalities that it may be said to
project.
Ex. 70a – Nielsen IV, bb. 51-4
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Ex. 70b – Nielsen IV, bb. 67-71
Looking at just the first two-bar phrase of each example, the dominant pedal in Example
70a encourages an interpretation as a fourth progression that prolongs V, thus projecting
vouloir faire surmodalized by the devoir être of expected resolution. In Example 70b, on
the other hand, the tonic pedal leads one to understand the b1 not as the goal of a fourth
progression but as a neighbour-note decoration of a descending-third progression
prolonging I. This projects non-vouloir faire, so there is no desire to decrease tension
and nor is there such a strong obligation for resolution. The opening two bars of
Example 70a thus communicate greater yearning (desire and obligation for resolution)
whereas the corresponding phrase in Example 70b projects what might be understood as
a relatively stable tension. This interpretation of the second configuration is confirmed
by a sudden transformation of the second subject that occurs some thirty bars later
(Example 71). Here the non-vouloir faire is positively celebrated in a lively E major
risoluto e giusto.
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Ex. 71 – Nielsen IV, bb. 96-7
The respective dominant and tonic orientation of Examples 70a and b also affect how the
second phrases of each statement are interpreted. In Example 70b, the vouloir être of
descent to ^1 is undermined by the f2 in the alto line at the end of b. 69 as well as by
the dominant harmony in the subsequent bar. By the time the dominant/tonic clash is
resolved, the melody has continued on down to ^3. In Example 70a, however, vouloir
être is not even present. The dominant pedal encourages an interpretation of the voice
leading as a decorated descending third prolonging the dominant, but in the context of
the tonic this descent from ^2 to ^7 projects non-vouloir non-faire. Because neither
passage resolves tension completely they also both project non-pouvoir être.
The vouloir faire of descent from ^5 to ^2 over V in Example 70a (bb. 51-66) is
replicated in the middleground trajectory of the first paragraph of the second subject, as
shown in Example 72, and brings the change of harmonic orientation at b. 67 (Example
70b) into sharper focus. At the heart of the foregoing analysis, therefore, is this rather
simple fact of a greatly expanded perfect cadence over which the second subject unfolds,
underpinned by a pedal that shifts from dominant to a tonic. If this is the principal reason
for the change in the presentation of the second subject, why go beyond it and invoke
Greimas‟s modalities? The point is to describe more precisely the way in which the
second subject becomes more stable yet still not closural. More specifically, I am
attempting to show that shining Greimasian light onto details of the work can create at
least shadows of musical subjects - in this case, in the shape of descending fourths.
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Ex. 72 – Nielsen IV, bb. 51-67
Example 73 shows the final climactic appearance of the second subject at the end of the
last movement. It is very much like Example 70b, but with two important differences.
The first is that the timpani provide dominant support for the passing and neighbour
notes, making the statement rather more emphatic but not changing the basic modality.
The second is that the final neighbour note of the theme (in b. 1159) now returns to ^1/I,
finally fulfilling the vouloir être of a descending third progression that in this context has
not done so before. There is thus a shift from the various degrees of non-pouvoir être
projected by previous renditions of the second subject to the pouvoir être projected here.
Ex. 73 – Nielsen IV, 1156-60
This moment of arrival on ^1/I in E major is affirmed by an extended version of the
second subject in the bass that spans an octave from ^8 to ^1 while the top part sits on
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the tonic (labelled Y2 on Example 74). This variant of the second subject theme, with its
tensional arch of vouloir faire (^8 to ^5) followed by vouloir être (^5 to ^1), appears
twice in the first movement (bb. 129 and 387) previous to its final triumphant rendition
here at the end of the last movement.
Ex. 74 – Nielsen IV, bb. 1160-63
Example 75, at the end of the exposition, shows the context for the first of these
appearances, in this instance in A major. The falling fourth of the second subject theme
appears overlapping in the treble and bass, and an E pedal in the timpani again
encourages the interpretation of this top note in the top line as a prolongation of the
dominant. As before the descent from ^5 to ^2 is modalized by the strong devoir être
of expected closure on ^1. The vouloir être of the descending line from ^4 to ^1 in the
bass, on the other hand, is undermined by the simultaneous return of ^5 in the top part
and the continued dominant pedal. The apparent impasse of this repeating pattern ends
when the top voice, instead of completing the descent to ^1, ascends from ^5 to ^8,
which brings local tonal resolution but does not fulfil the specific devoir être of descent
to ^1.
As earlier in this chapter, I am proposing that these modalities are not just general
narrative categories, but that they are projected onto a specific actor: the descending
fourth. The ability of this actor in the top part to bring local tonal closure in Example 75
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(to fulfil the devoir être) is usurped by the ascending figure, something to which the trills
(see incipit) draw attention. From the point of view of the second subject as a narrative
actor, this situation can again be understood as non-pouvoir être. By contrast, at the end
of the symphony, the second subject material is able to achieve closure on ^1/I
(Example 73). Thus, while both passages culminate in the pouvoir être of Y2, the effect
is rather different in Example 75 because of the preceding non-pouvoir être.
Ex. 75 - Nielsen IV, bb. 121-32
Put more informally, my suggestion is that the affirmative finality of motif Y2 at b. 129
(the end of the exposition) feels, in this sense, unearned, something that is equally true of
the second appearance of Y2 at the end of the first movement: a blaze of E major that
anticipates the end of the symphony. This comes at the end of a highly truncated
recapitulation that otherwise pays its dues to the second subject only in an eight-bar
transition; one gets the feeling that the issue of the unresolved second subject descending
fourth is being deferred.
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5.2.4 – Motivic drama: a tale of two categories
The different presentations of the second subject material form part of a wider drama,
whose exploration is also assisted by the notion of motivic categories. As discussed
earlier, the importance of motivic correspondences is not so much that the extreme
contrasts of the work are drawn together into a coherent whole (as in White‟s analysis)
but that the same basic material is reinterpreted in different contexts. I have been
describing this process in terms of Greimasian modalities, but this is only a
formalization of a much more familiar interpretative strategy: the treating of motivic
ideas as narrative subjects in traditional analyses of such explicitly dramatic works as
Liszt‟s Faust Symphony or Berlioz‟s Harold in Italy. I have no intention of trying to
show that Nielsen is telling such concrete tales; as previously in this dissertation I am
interested in exploring how generalized narrative categories can be projected onto the
musical action. Having made detailed comparisons of a fairly small number of passages
from the second subject, I now want to step back and take an overview of motivic and
thematic play across the outer movements of the symphony.
Two motivic categories dominate the first movement: ascending arpeggiated triads (X)
and descending stepwise figures (Y). The second of these will be familiar from the
previous two sections of this chapter and falls into two main sub-categories as shown in
Figure 42. Sub-category Y(a) contains the series of third progressions discussed in 5.2.2,
whereas Y(b) includes the second subject material explored in 5.2.3.
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Fig. 42 – Motivic category Y
My first two examples from motif Y at the beginning of this chapter (Example 65b)
suggested that it was a force for stability, bringing some sort of diatonic order after non-
diatonic turbulence. In addition, the underlying contrapuntal structure of the second of
these extracts projected the modalities of vouloir and pouvoir être. I also interpreted the
subsequent appearances of sub-category Y(a) in the opening paragraph of the symphony
and Y(b) in the second subject in similar terms, with the devoir être of the latter finally
fulfilled at the very end of the work – again, pouvoir être.
If category Y is understood in terms of its ability to resolve tensions, category X, which
has not been discussed in the above analyses, projects rather different modalities. Before
considering the interaction of the two it is therefore worth looking at some preliminary
examples. Category X can also be divided into the two main sub-categories outlined in
Figure 43.
Fig. 43 – Motivic category X
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As shown on Example 76, the symphony opens with two instances of X(a), which
embody qualities that will continue to define this motivic category throughout most of
the work. The ^1–^3–^5 melodic profile projects vouloir faire, whilst the major/minor
instability creates a very mild sense of non-savoir être (i.e. inability to assimilate
tonally).
Ex. 76 – Nielsen IV, b. 1
The next overtly related instance of this motivic category is near the beginning of the
development, although, as we shall see, it does not disappear altogether in the rest of the
exposition. The same pair of major/minor ascending triplets appears in rhythmic
augmentation as crotchet triplets, as shown in Example 77. Having initiated the chaotic
opening, X(a) now plays a part in resurrecting tonal and rhythmic momentum against a
static texture that has been reduced to a sort of mechanical twitching in violins against a
D pedal in the timpani. As well as reactivating the orchestra, this also has the effect of
forcing the timpani to move up by semitones to E. According to my descriptive
methodology, a rising arpeggio from ^1 to ^5 will always project vouloir faire – an
increase in tonal energy – but in this symphony such commonplace tonal features
become dramatized by their extreme surroundings: the vouloir faire of the rising
arpeggio appears here in the context of the stasis at the beginning of the development,
which projects strong non-faire.
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Ex. 77 – Nielsen IV, bb. 189-91
The con fuoco tutti that follows (see Example 78a) is dominated by the vouloir faire of
X(a) in a reckless canon that motivates a texture lurching from one harmony to
another: G, C, F and then finally back to E at b. 231. The catalysing effect of X(a) in
this section then results in the unruly energy of b. 233 (see Example 78b). The triadic
figure – now distorted into first inversions and diminished triads, but recognizably
related through being presented as triplets – is so tonally mobile that harsh dissonances
occur. This is reminiscent of a passage in the choleric temperament from the second
symphony, where a somewhat madcap fugato works up an energy that is bordering on
incoherence (from b. 150 or letter G). It also looks forward to passages in later works
like the Flute Concerto where Nielsen seems to be taking an almost child-like delight in
throwing together clashing tonal fragments (see, for example, the flute, trombone,
timpani and string passage that follows figure 80 in that work).
Ex. 78a – Nielsen IV, bb. 215-19
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Ex. 78b– Nielsen IV, bb. 233-39
This sequence of events shows how motif X, in a sense, presents a potential problem.
The rising triplet figure injects vouloir faire but at the same time raises the prospect of
non-savoir être: in summoning energy from stasis at the beginning of the development, it
unleashes energy so exuberant that the music threatens to tear itself apart. The
destructive energy of motif X is balanced by the calmer motif Y, most notably in the
shape of the second subject material, and in the rest of this section I will trace some of
the interactions between these two main motivic categories.
One of the first interactions between motivic categories X and Y was alluded to at the
beginning of this chapter in Example 65b, where a figure based on a descending fourth
attempts to brings diatonic order to the tritone-dominated texture. The rising triplets in
the first bar initiate this texture, which precedes the embryonic version of motif Y, so we
see in these opening five bars a microcosm of one of the work‟s dominating dramas.
Ex. 79 – Nielsen IV, bb. 1-6
At the beginning of the development (shown in Example 77 to Example 78b), the
vouloir faire of motif category X is left unchecked, but a new phase begins at b. 244 as
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shown in Example 80. The next 40 bars consist of alternation between a harmonically
highly mobile triplet triadic figure (X) and a tonally more stable descending stepwise one
(Y). This passage sees the first prominent use of motivic sub-category X(b), and the
change to first inversion triads slightly softens the impact of the fast-changing
harmonies.12
Ex. 80 – Nielsen IV, bb. 244-49
The sequence of events shown in Example 80 is one that continues up until b. 280, with
X(b) scrambling downwards out of control, followed by Y(b) trying to gain a foothold in
this swiftly shifting harmonic environment. It is ironic that the triad, one of the defining
building-blocks of tonality, has become a threat to tonal stability through being
associated with incessant harmonic mobility.
At b. 280 (Example 81a), the alternation of motivic categories X and Y is telescoped, so
that the former becomes an accompanying figure for the latter. The result is ultimately a
temporary neutralization of the motif power of the rising arpeggio as the music settles
first in G and finally at b. 299 in C (Example 81b). I shall discuss later how the
dissonances create a diatonic soup into which the normal tonal forces of tension and
resolution are absorbed. The music has thus emerged from one sort of stasis (at the
beginning of the development) through chaotic and energetic mobility into a new, albeit
12 This is perhaps related to one of the reasons given for the prohibition on parallel fifths given by
Schenker in Harmony (1954). He suggests that as a „boundary interval‟ of the harmonic triad, the fifth
calls attention to the parallel harmonies in a way that other interval successions do not (: 130).
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somewhat more pleasant, sort of immobility. It is a texture that recalls the benign
indolence of the „Phlegmatic Temperament‟ of Nielsen‟s Second Symphony (see
Example 49 above) but now placed in a more complex context. This exploration of
energetic near-chaos and stasis is surely part of what Nielsen is talking about when he
raises the topic of resting and active forces (see p. 248 above), and it is a polarity in
which the two motivic categories of X and Y play a vital role.
Ex. 81a – Nielsen IV, bb. 280-86
Ex. 81b – Nielsen IV, bb 299-305
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If these two motivic categories are implicated in the crisis of the development as it
swings between stasis and chaos, they also participate in the robust but lyrical second
subject, which provided a locus of calm in the exposition (Example 82). The Y(b) motif
is clear in the top line, this being perhaps the most typical instance of this category. It is
also surely significant that, in this very sparse and economical texture, the other line
consists of ascending root position triads.
Ex. 82 – Nielsen IV, bb. 51-4
In the light of the interaction of motivic categories X and Y in the first movement, there
are some interesting connections to be traced through the final two movements of the
symphony. Simpson (1979: 85, Ex. 38) and White (1991: 64, Ex. 2.12) show how the
beginning of the final movement builds on a number of previously heard motifs;
particularly clear are the links between the melody of the opening paragraph (shown in
Example 83b) and the slow third movement (shown in Example 83a and explored
further below). Both authors also point out how the opening of the last movement recalls
the second subject material that forms the core of my motivic category Y: whilst
Simpson highlights the initial falling third, the more literal-minded White points to the
falling fourth that starts nine bars later and corresponds more exactly to his motivic
scheme (annotated on Example 83b).
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Ex. 83a – Nielsen IV, 543-4 / 584-5 (melodies)
Ex. 83b – Nielsen IV, bb. 682-94
The relationship between the slow movement cantilena and the second subject can be
seen most clearly by comparing the canonic presentation of the variant Y2 that appears
just before the glorioso at the end of the first movement exposition (Example 84a) with
the soulful counterpoint at the end of the adagio (Example 84b). If, as Fanning points
out, the second movement „ruminates on the idyllic nature of the second subject‟
(1994: 191) – an idea I shall expand upon later – then the third movement sometimes
seems like a lament upon the unfulfilled yearning of the same material. Although the
descending thirds at the beginning of the final movement fit into motivic category Y(a),
this more explicit link to the second subject through the dotted figures in the poco
adagio is significant because it creates further context for the crisis that the musical
subject represented by Y is to face in the final movement.
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Ex. 84a – Nielsen IV, bb. 113-16
Ex. 84b – Nielsen IV, bb. 661-4
Also relevant in this regard is the nature of the E major climax towards the end of the
slow movement (see Example 85). Simpson suggests that, although E major is fully
established, „the vital thematic factor … [the first movement second subject] is missing
… without this theme, E major can be said to be only tentatively asserted‟ (1979: 84-5).
Although this is important in the wider formal context of the work, there are also more
immediate reasons why the passage seems somehow unsatisfying as a culmination.
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Ex. 85 – Nielsen IV, bb. 645-6
The upper strings and wind repeat a melodic figure that outlines a motion from ^8–^6–
^5 (motif U on Example 85). This does not effect complete tonal closure; in fact, from a
melodic point of view, it projects the modality of vouloir faire. This modality does not of
itself make this passage inherently unsatisfying as a culminating gesture – a comparable
melodic pattern features at the end of Mahler‟s First Symphony, for example (and indeed
Nielsen‟s own Fifth). The final bars of the Mahler are dominated, as can be seen from
Example 86, by a ^1–^^2–^^3–^^5 figure, which again projects vouloir faire. The
major difference is that while Mahler marks sempre ff al fine and Drängend bis zum
Schluss, Nielsen‟s outburst almost immediately gets quieter and slower.
Ex. 86 – Mahler I/4, bb. 724-end
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The semiotic square in Figure 44 helps to clarify the difference in these two cases by
considering dynamic and tempo simply in terms of increase and decrease. Both Nielsen
and Mahler extracts project an ongoing tonal tension of ^5, but whereas the former
decreases (or weakens) in the face of this tension, the latter is non-decreasing (or
persistent). Mahler‟s conclusion celebrates vouloir faire whereas, in the Nielsen it is
problematized – the focus is not on an exhilarating tension but on the lack of resolution.
Fig. 44 – Semiotic square of increase and decrease
Lack of melodic resolution (or non-pouvoir être) is a characteristic of the first movement
second subject, and the descending fourth melodic profile of motif U leads White to
include it in the same motif-group (see 1991: 50, Table 6). The similarity is not enough,
however, to stop the climax in Example 85 feeling thematically incomplete as Simpson
suggests, and motif U can also be understood as incomplete in a more immediate sense.
Leonard Meyer suggests that, in general, two types of incompleteness can be
distinguished:
(1) those which arise in the course of the pattern because something was left out or
skipped over; and (2) those in which the figure, complete so far as it goes, simply is not
felt to have reached a satisfactory conclusion, is not finished. The first type of
incompleteness may be said to be a product of a "structural gap," the second type, a
product of a delay in the need and desire for “closure” (1956: 130).
I have discussed incompleteness almost exclusively in terms of the second of these
definitions in this dissertation, but Meyer‟s first sense – what he calls gap-fill – seems
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relevant to motif U in the climax in Example 85. As we shall see, this gapped motif will
appear again at various points in the finale, creating another sense in which the return of
the second subject theme – with its complete stepwise descent – provides resolution at
the end of the symphony.13
The various descending motifs – from which much of the melodic material in the final
movement is constructed – thus have a rich history stretching right back through the
symphony. Central to the drama of this movement, as in the first, is the alternation of
category Y stepwise descent with the ascending arpeggiations of category X. In much of
the first movement, motif X tended to be a catalyst for energetic chaos and motif Y
attempted to establish order. One of the interesting things about the opening two
paragraphs of the final movement (sections A and B on Figure 37) is that this distinction
is broken down: the first is relatively controlled and the second wildly chaotic, yet both
are based on an alternation of X and Y.
Looking back at Example 83b, the opening descending thirds (motif Y(a) in bb. 682-
688) is followed by an expansive triple-time melody (bb. 687-722). The most obvious
motivic link is to the blissful slow tune from the third movement (shown in Example
87b and marked V), which here is speeded up and has an extra note added on the front.
This addition means that the figure can also be understood as a decorated ascending triad
and thus as a member of motivic category X – specifically X(a2) on Figure 43 (see p.
275 above). I am not suggesting that on hearing this melody one would necessarily make
a connection back to the original form of this motif (Example 87a); as an arpeggiated
motion from ^1 to ^5, however, these melodic fragments share the modality of vouloir
faire, and comparing the differences and similarities realization of this modal potential
reveals something about the narrative that the symphony unfolds.
13 Like several other motifs discussed in this dissertation, motif U is by no means unique to one symphony.
Most notably, it appears in the third movement of the First Symphony and in the first movement of the
Fifth. Its status as a Nielsen fingerprint does not necessarily diminish its signifying value any more than the
reappearance of DSCH or other characteristic patterns is monovalent in the music of Shostakovich.
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Ex. 87a – Nielsen IV, b. 1
Ex. 87b – Nielsen IV, b. 584
Ex. 87c – Nielsen IV, bb. 689-710
The vouloir faire of the ^1 to ^5 in Example 87c is initially balanced by an elaboration
of the U motif – the „incomplete‟ descending figure from the slow movement. In a sense
the vouloir être of the motion to ^1 in A major is therefore frustrated on a local level by
this incompleteness (i.e. non-pouvoir être). After several repetitions a new idea develops
at b. 701 – a longer descending phrase from ^8 that is decorated by neighbour notes.
However, as this descent reaches ^1 (potentially vouloir être), the harmony shifts and
resolution is delayed by a chromatic excursion.
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The music does find its way back towards A, but it is cut off after an anacrusic leading
note, and the strong devoir être (^7 is expected to resolve to ^8) of this gesture is
abruptly denied (see Example 88). This dramatic non-pouvoir être heralds the beginning
of the second paragraph of the movement, which begins with a second Y/X alternation
(section B on Figure 37). After the relative control of the first paragraph, material from
both motivic categories is now subjected to the sort of violent distortion that Fanning has
called brutalization (1994: 196).
Ex. 88 – Nielsen IV, bb. 722-6
The screechingly high and dissonant motif Y is distorted in this passage into a number of
variants that do not appear elsewhere, with descents spanning diminished thirds and
tritones among other intervals. The effect is not so much the non-pouvoir être of an
inability to resolve tension as the non-savoir être of being unable to assimilate the
dissonances and chromaticisms into even a local tonal hierarchy. This is followed at
b. 730 by a wild fugato that starts with an ascending whole-tone triad – a brutalization of
the motivic category X(a) (Example 89).
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Ex. 89 – Nielsen IV, bb. 730-31
Towards the end of this fugato passage, which becomes increasingly frenzied, motivic
category Y reappears. First the horns leap up a seventh and begin to descend; then,
against a new ascending arpeggio figure, they play the dotted version of motif Y from
the beginning of the movement (Example 90a). The trombone and tuba (Example 90b)
copy the first half of this idea, but everything is suddenly overwhelmed by the first of the
famous timpani duels that periodically intrude upon this movement (section C on Figure
37).
Ex. 90a – Nielsen IV, bb. 751-9
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Ex. 90b – Nielsen IV, bb. 763-5
The violence of this passage in contrast to the relatively genial opening is so striking that
it calls for some reflection. In Chapter 2, I quoted Vera Micznik‟s formulation of an
assumption that underlies many musical commentaries:
the more the sequence of events and the discourse of the piece contradicts an
expected order and make the listener constantly wonder what unexpected situation will
occur next, the more „narrative‟ the music will be. (2001: 246)
Micznik makes this point in the context of an article that is critical of authors who
proceed „as if music as “action” or “predicate” needed an external agency as the subject
who performs its actions‟ (: 243). I have taken great pains in this dissertation to try and
show how music may be understood in terms of narrative action without presuming this
external agency; that is indeed part of the point of my adoption of Greimas‟s
semionarrative level, a level that is prior to the aspectualization effected by a narrator.
Whilst the various musical forces at work in Nielsen‟s timpani outburst can still be
described in modal terms, this is one of those moments where the presence of the
composer as narrator or author is suddenly strongly felt.14 Simpson makes much use of
the common device of describing musical changes as logical or natural reactions to such
14 Raymond Monelle discusses the „calamity‟ of the double fugue in the first movement of Schumann‟s
Second Symphony in terms of a similar authorial intrusion (2000: 123).
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events as a change of key or entry of a theme.15 However, it seems to me that at b. 723
Nielsen wilfully plunges his motivic material into a tortuously harsh environment. There
is no internal reason why this should happen at this point, no crisis lurking within the
material itself: Nielsen has decided to demonstrate dramatically that this music is indeed
inextinguishable by challenging its assumptions of permanence.
It is from this chaos that motivic category Y(a) wrests back some tonal control, as shown
right back at the beginning of this chapter in Example 65b (section D). Although the
timpani duel resurfaces at 804 (section E), tonal order is fully restored in a brief blaze of
A major starting at b. 827 (section F).
I will consider the longer-term structure of the movement from section G onwards in
Schenkerian terms in the next section of this chapter. But from a formal perspective, the
remainder of the symphony at times sounds as if it is working up towards an energetic
coda and at others as if it is enmeshed in irreconcilably furious development. Although
there are reprises of some of the earlier material (as well as the second subject theme
from the first movement), there is no real recapitulation. The two basic motivic
categories of X and Y and their associated modalities are even more central to the drama
as the work comes to a conclusion.
Section G (b. 859) starts with a characteristic insistent repeated-note figure (Example
91a) over static harmony, an emotionally drained version of a figure that recurs in the
third movement (Example 91b) and is characterized by Simpson as a „warning‟ against
the „dangerous bliss‟ of C major (1979: 84).
15 For a classic example, see his description of the development of the first movement of this symphony in
which violas are described as „taking this hint‟ and violins „challenged, leap into a ferocious fortissimo‟
(1979: 80).
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Ex. 91a – Nielsen IV, bb. 860-73
Ex. 91b– Nielsen IV, bb. 603-6
Out of this near-stasis emerges a sort of prototype motif Y. One could even say that it is
being reborn after the destructive chaos of the preceding music. Example 91a begins
with a repeated a2 (local ^1, so a point of maximal rest), which is progressively
decorated by a lower neighbour note and consonant skips. Finally in b. 870, after an
upper neighbour note, a descending third progression emerges, shifting the harmony to F
major. Incidentally, an ascending arpeggio, recalling motif X, immediately follows this
descent.
As the music starts to become more tonally active, each instance of this repeated-note
theme develops into a descending third, confirming the new local tonal centre. Repeated
^1 projects the modality of non-vouloir non-être – there is no desire to be not resolved
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or at the maximum point of rest – and as these repeated notes are elaborated, other
modalities start to come back into play; the music starts being capable of a wider range
of categories of narrative action. The overall effect is of someone gingerly flexing their
limbs after a fall to see if anything is broken. Clearly, this is not a process that can
continue indefinitely, and after lingering on G minor, the music tails off after slipping
down to the dominant of B (see Example 92).
Ex. 92 – Nielsen IV, bb. 917-29
Section H at b. 933 (Example 93) is the first of two canons based on the main opening
melody of this movement (Example 87c). Like the fugato in section B, this canonic
passage appears twice in the movement, but here the similarities end. The canon is quiet
and restrained, where the fugato is loud and wild; the harmonic stability of the canon
borders on stasis whilst the fugato is wildly chromatic and modulatory; and the canon is
strict (section A remains in strict canon for 56 bars) where the fugato is extremely free.
If, in Fanning‟s formulation, Nielsen writes a „mad fugue‟ and a „sane fugue‟ in the fifth
symphony (1997: 30), The Inextinguishable contains a studious canon and a mad fugato.
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Ex. 93 – Nielsen IV, bb. 933-57
As with the main opening melody of this movement (Example 87c), the canon at the
beginning of section H sees the vouloir faire of ^1 to ^5 balanced by the vouloir être
(but not pouvoir être) of a gapped descent to ^1. If the melodic profile initially
reproduces the opening almost verbatim, from b. 944 it is more reminiscent of the end of
the first movement exposition, as can be seen by comparing it with Example 94 (and
with the earlier Example 75). Both passages repeat an interrupted descent from ^5
before finally ascending from ^5 up to ^8, which I described earlier as subverting the
devoir être of the completion of the descent to ^1.
Ex. 94 – Nielsen IV, bb. 121-9
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As shown in Example 95, as the strict canon comes to a close, its opening phrase (based
on motivic category X) reappears as an accompaniment to the re-emergence of the
second subject material (motivic category Y) from the first movement. As the second
subject material becomes increasingly similar to its original manifestation (see b. 1004)
it reinforces the I-V implication of the X motif‟s ^1 to ^5 trajectory, and this is in fact
the overall harmonic progression of the whole section. Despite the vouloir faire of this
middleground movement to the dominant, it is accompanied by a thematic and textural
liquidation (which continues past the end of Example 95). The theme in the bass is
reduced to a decoration of motif X without any extension, and the top line is reduced to a
decorated consonant skip of a fifth that is similar to a motif from the Fifth Symphony.
The strictness of the canon, the slowness of the middleground harmonic rhythm and the
gentle winding down seem to represent a taming of the vouloir faire of motif X. In this
controlled and more cautious environment, however, it has lost its catalysing energetic
power.
Ex. 95 – Nielsen IV, bb. 994-1016
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Despite the più mosso marking at the beginning of section I (see Example 96), the
second canon is even more static harmonically, with the melody altered so that it begins
and ends on ^1 of what is now B minor (non-vouloir être). The resulting canon at the
fifth remains locked into this harmonic immobility. I discussed above how the violence
of section B appeared as an authorial intrusion because there was nothing in the first
section to suggest that it might be met by such a response. The situation by the time we
get to section I, however, is very different. The chaos of the first timpani duel in this
movement was overcome by the intrusion of a muscular F minor at the beginning of
section C. In negating the vouloir faire of the motif X material these studious canons
have swung too far in the other direction; the violence of duelling timpani in section J is
almost welcome after this encroaching torpor.
Ex. 96 – Nielsen IV, bb. 1035-42
I earlier quoted Fanning‟s comment about the second subject theme‟s „fitness to stand
against adversity‟ (1994: 188). Whilst it was unable to rescue the first canon from
fizzling out, this fitness is proved as the theme enters fortissimo over the rumbling
timpani in b. 1082 (see Example 97). This appearance of category Y has the
characteristic doubled thirds of Y(b) but is contracted to a third. In relation to the D
minor chord outlined in the timpani, the top line first progresses from ^5 to ^3 in the
horns (non-vouloir faire) and this is answered by ^3 to ^1 in the flutes and oboes
(vouloir être). However, the reappearance of insistent unison Bs in the rest of the
orchestra (reinforced by the B on which the lower thirds end) means that, from the point
of view of closure in D minor, the Y motif projects the modality of non-pouvoir être.
Moreover, the harmonic uncertainty caused by the unison Bs (and the inherent lack of
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clarity in a timpani chord) results in an overall modality of non-savoir être: it is difficult
to assimilate the pitch information into a clear tonal hierarchy. Although it may not be
able to bring tonal closure, the miracle is that the category Y(b) material has survived at
all and this is the thematic sense in which this music is inextinguishable.
Ex. 97 – Nielsen IV, 1082-92
At the end of this duel, the timpani are, as Simpson describes it, „precipitately wrenched
from their D minor‟ (: 87), and the final two sections reveal much about the aesthetic of
this work. After the timpani glissando a reworking of the mad fugato from the beginning
of the movement breaks out as shown in Example 98 (the beginning of section K).
Ex. 98 – Nielsen IV, bb. 1110-15
Simpson goes on to suggest that the return of the mad fugato from beginning of the
movement (section B) „sweeps irresistibly into a complete and final statement of Ex. 34
[the second subject] in an unassailable E major‟ (: 87). His account glosses over the fact
that this transition into the triumphant coda is abrupt and even slightly surprising;
although the energetic fugato is less harmonically wayward than before, it is only
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marginally so, and this makes it anything but the obvious choice for a triumphant sweep
to the finish (particularly without the benefit of hindsight). White, on the other hand, is
taken aback to find that the transition is „executed by a relatively weak progression‟
(1991: 119),16 and to my mind both he and Simpson are missing at least part of the point.
Towards the end of the First Symphony‟s Allegro orgoglioso, a G minor fugato builds
up momentum for the coda (b. 293), and, by analogy, the studious but energetic canons
in sections H and I of the last movement of The Inextinguishable are an obvious way to
prepare for the work‟s culmination.17 However, the first canon fizzles to nothing and the
timpani drown out the second; it is the untamed energy of the following mad fugato that
eventually leads into the tension-releasing coda. As at the beginning of the movement
(and indeed of the symphony), Nielsen revels in the juxtaposition of chaotically active
and resting forces: the wild abandon of the fugato is balanced by the strong closure of
the final presentation of the second subject from the first movement (see Example 74). If
the harmonic progression into E major is awkward, as White suggests, this is not a failed
attempt to create an inevitable drive to the finish, but a deliberate wrench between two
dramatically polarized passages of music.
Ex. 99 – Nielsen IV, bb. 1140-43
16 The transition is made when „the subdominant of E minor is reinterpreted as the minor mediant of E
major‟ (White 1991: 119)
17 The main difference is that the canons in the Fourth Symphony are on the dominant of the final key
rather than the tonic. In the context of the whole work, however, the G minor fugato in the First Symphony
is of course a minor mode dominant of the home tonic.
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Although the return of the second subject at the beginning of section L is a vivid contrast
to the previous section, in terms of my categorial analysis it is nevertheless based on the
same basic material. If the immediate similarity of the rising arpeggio of category X is
somewhat obscured, the falling chains of thirds from motivic category Y(b) are clearly
related. The modal correspondence between these two categories is at least as important
as the motivic one; White‟s notion that the disparities of the work are subsumed by
motivic unity is only half the story. I have tried to show how contrasts both subtle and
dramatic can be understood as shaped by the defining modalities of each category: the
vouloir faire of X‟s rising arpeggio and the (often subverted) devoir être of Y‟s descents.
In this context, these Greimasian modalities are, like Nielsen‟s various symphonic
subtitles, „different names for the same thing… resting forces as opposed to active ones‟
(cited in Fanning 1997: 97).18
The same basic categories of stepwise descent and ascending arpeggiation by means of
which Nielsen chooses to depict these forces within The Inextinguishable also describe
the two components of Schenker‟s Ursatz: the stepwise descent of the Urlinie and the
rising fifth of the Bassbrechung. The interplay of forces (in particular, the alternation of
tonally open energy in section K and closure in section L) also recalls A. B. Marx‟s
concepts of Satz and Gang. Whereas the Satz „contains a definite close‟ (cited in
Monelle 2000: 105), a Gang is an open-ended piece of passagework, which finds „its
close and goal not in itself but in some other feature‟ (: 105). In these terms motivic
category X in The Inextinguishable tends to result in Gänge whilst Y is associated with
Sätze. Marx‟s extension of this principle from individual phrases to entire movements,
although a considerably less sophisticated blend of the hierarchical and the linear than
Schenker‟s theory, nevertheless offers a view of the dynamics of musical structure that is
certainly consistent with the end of Nielsen‟s Fourth Symphony.
18 forskellige Navne paa det samme … de hvilende Kræfter i Modsætning til de aktiv. Politiken 24 January
1922.
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Monelle suggests that „the technique of the Gang was developed in order to separate the
successive nows of each lyric evocation‟ (200: 110), so that the Sätze in Classical sonata
form are enclosed „within a goal-directed, irreversible chain of cause and effect which
created a past, a memory of past lyric evocations which could be drawn on for reprise
and development‟ (: 110). From this point of view The Inextinguishable could be
understood as a striving for a Satz (the second subject Y(b) material) that only fully
emerges in the final section of the last movement from the developmental and open-
ended Gänge that dominate the work.
The deferring of closure is, of course, familiar from Beethoven and Scott Burnham,
whose suggestion that Schenker‟s Ursatz is motivated by Beethoven‟s heroic style I
referred to in Chapter 2, makes a similar claim for Marx:
The aspect of Beethoven‟s style primarily accommodated in Marx‟s theory is that of
forward motion, or the flow of energy: subsections become open-ended, and the
energy courses on; strong closure (acting as a “ground”) is reserved only for the end of
a movement (1995: 71)
The difference in Nielsen‟s Fourth Symphony is that the very existence of Sätze (and, at
time, even Gänge) is threatened by internal tendencies toward chaos or torpor, and by the
intrusion of the timpani duels.
Although I have largely proceeded chronologically through the work in the foregoing
analysis, I have aimed to step back from the relentlessly goal-oriented „one-dimensional
unscrolling‟ that I quoted Grimley as criticising Simpson for (1998: 4). Our experience
of the final section of the last movement might be shaped both by the wildness of the
immediately preceding fugato but also by our memory of the many different
presentations of category Y(b) across the rest of the symphony. Large-scale linear
processes (discussed in the next section) might also affect our experience of the
conclusion.
5.3 – Overarching tensions
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In discussing the descending fourth that defines the second subject material (motif Y), I
have so far concentrated on its foreground presentation. In so doing I have emphasized
the importance of devoir être, the assumed obligation for the descent from ^5 to ^2 to
continue down to ^1. As shown in Example 99 (and discussed with reference to
Example 73 in section 5.2.3) this obligation is finally fulfilled locally at the end of the
symphony with a fully harmonically supported descent from ^5 to ^1 in E major, which,
once accomplished, could be described in terms of pouvoir être.
At the background level, however, there is no possibility of such a resolution, as neither
the individual movements nor the symphony as a whole are tonally closed. The work
describes a sharpwards tonal progression to E major, and one could plausibly propose a
background structure something like Example 73, in which there is a treble descent from
A to E underpinned by a tonal progression from D through A to E.
Ex. 100 – Nielsen IV, background structure
A similar harmonic structure can also be found in the later Flute Concerto (1926), which
similarly progresses from a chaotic D minor to a triumphant (albeit less fiery) E major.
As in the Fourth Symphony, the final E major follows a violent intervention, this time in
the shape of a coarsely exuberant trombone entry, and this turn of events is replicated in
the middleground in the first hundred bars of the first movement as shown in Example
101. It seems that this overall scheme is something that appealed to Nielsen‟s formal
sense, and I will suggest at the end of this chapter that these two works also have a
deeper aesthetic connection.
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Ex. 101 – Nielsen Flute Concerto, bb. 1-97
Coming after my previous focus on perceptibly different presentations of motif Y in the
foreground, the extrapolation of the same motif into the deep structure of the Fourth
Symphony is something of a leap, particularly in the light of my criticisms of White‟s
motivic analysis. William Benjamin‟s slightly acerbic complaint seems pertinent:
It is now more fashionable … to look for step-motion lines, and to assert some sort of
tonal coherence on the basis of having found such lines, even though it is scarcely
possible to imagine a piece (which includes among other things, some notes) in which
finding such lines would pose any sort of problem at all (Benjamin 1977: 54).
The danger is that it is so easy to find suggestions of large-scale descending motion that
they are scarcely relevant, particularly if the focus is on finding narrative meaning in
such tonal structures. It is with this in mind that I nonetheless go on to point out three
instances of the structure shown in Example 100. If they are too far below the surface to
be immediately dramatically pertinent, it is interesting that they relate to more tangible
features of the symphony, most notably in that all three culminate in the jubilant Y2
motif discussed above (Example 102).
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Ex. 102a – Nielsen IV, bb. 1-153
Ex. 102b – Nielsen IV, bb. 280-424
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Ex. 102c – Nielsen IV, bb. 860-1160
incipit A
bb. 860ff.
incipit B
bb. 909ff.
incipit C
bb. 933ff.
incipit D
bb. 1136ff.
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According to Simpson, E major is the key „towards which the whole symphony is
driving‟ (: 79), a view that stems from the feeling of inevitability and long-delayed
arrival at the conclusion of the work. Simpson suggests that one of the reasons for this is
that „not only is the tonality of E secured for the first time … but the theme most
associated with its evolution is heard for the first time in its full form‟ (: 87). The notion
of the „full form‟ of the second subject is expanded upon in the above modal analysis of
its changing presentations, but this does not explain why it should be most satisfying for
this final resolution to be in E major.
The opening paragraph (see Example 102a above) outlines what is also to be the basic
trajectory of the entire symphony, as the music progresses from a chaotically unstable D
major/minor to a somewhat more stable E major. This is itself relatively unstable (as we
saw in Example 69) and soon turns out to be the dominant of A major, but it is not to be
the last „prematurely triumphant‟ arrival on E. One way of understanding this aspect of
the symphony is as a quest to make this opening tonal structure plausible as a completed
unit. The first movement recapitulation (see Example 102b above) outlines the same
progression, achieving E major closure more convincingly not only as a result of greater
foreground stability but also because the middleground descent is through G rather than
G (as in Example 102a). Finally, Example 102c shows from the development section of
the last movement through to the end of the symphony. Whereas in Example 102b the
falling fourth progression essentially took place in the space of two bars (bb. 386-7), in
Example 102c it is more deeply embedded. Each step of the descent is fully supported
harmonically, and the resultant prolongations are not only much longer but the prolonged
notes maintain a prominent foreground presence. Although this descent is by way of G
(b. 909), a local replication through G ensures a final diatonic descent in E major from
b. 1136.
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Benjamin‟s cautionary remarks notwithstanding, these large-scale progressions seem to
me to be clear enough to be of some significance. Although it is largely foreground
presentation that makes the close in E major at the end of each of them increasingly
convincing, it is intriguing that this is mirrored in progressively more fully worked-out
middleground structures.
The treble descent from A down to E in the exposition of the first movement (Example
102a) is complemented by the reverse progression at the end of the section (b. 129). A
descent from ^5 to ^2 underpinned by a progression from tonic to dominant is one of
the normative models suggested by Schenker for the exposition of a sonata form
movement (1979: 134); the Nielsen is only unusual in the instability of the opening
tonality and the considerable emphasis on II at bb. 27 and 96 (the supertonic major is at
least equally prominent in the first movement of Brahms‟s Second Symphony).
In formal terms, the recapitulation (Example 102b) is also initially normative in that it
brings back the first subject, this time much more clearly in the home tonic of D. One
might also expect the second subject‟s falling fourth (bb. 51, 67 and 121) to be
transposed into the tonic (i.e. a descent from ^5 in D major) and this progression is
indeed what governs the overall trajectory of the recapitulation. However, instead of
completing the descent to ^1 and finishing on the tonic, the recapitulation turns into an
amplified version of the move to the supertonic seen in the first subject exposition.
An intriguing detail is that the overall contrapuntal design of this section is prefigured in
a remote, semitonally related key (see b. 364 in Example 102b): the top line describes a
descent from ^5 to ^2 with the harmonic support moving sharpwards from tonic and
dominant to supertonic. It is almost as if Nielsen is audibly testing its efficacy in a
distant location before bringing it into play in the main tonality.
Perhaps the most interesting feature of the recapitulation, however, is the way in which
the middleground descending-fourth progression from A to E spans a sharpwards
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progression around the circle of fifths. The passages before and after the progression
(bb. 342-387) are characterized by formless flatwards drift, whereas the sharpwards
movement from D to A across this central recapitulatory section has a much greater
sense of direction. After the arrival on E major at b. 387 most of the orchestra drops out,
and over the next thirty-seven bars the timpani and first violin slip flatwards to the G
major with which the next movement starts. This is an amplification of the flatwards
slippage by one step that also occurs after the end of the exposition (b. 153 on Example
102a).
If the sharpwards movement is quickly reversed in Example 102b once the descent is
complete, the more measured descent that follows the turbulent opening section of the
last movement (Example 102c) ensures that it is consolidated (section G to the end). The
section begins with a fairly static A major texture, so this final instance of the
background structure suggested in Example 73 is different in that the harmonic
framework changes so that the beginning is ^8 in A major rather than ^5 in D. In theory
at least, the strong devoir être of the foreground ^5 to ^2 of the second subject, which is
replicated in the previous two middleground descents, is slightly less urgent in this new
configuration. More tangibly, the much more strongly established E major strengthens
the sense that the descent ends on ^1 in this key.
The repeated a2s (incipit a) at the beginning of section G mark the static beginning of the
descent, the foreground detail of which is discussed above, and incipit b shows how g2,
the next note of the middleground descent, emerges out of the series of descending thirds
that reactivate the texture at the beginning of the development. The ensuing coda-like
passage in B (incipit C) prolongs the penultimate note of the descent (F), but before the
return of the second subject from the first movement in E major, a furious explosion of
energy precipitated by the final timpani duel interrupts. Incipit d shows the local descent
from A to E (in the trombones) that finally channels this energy into the coda.
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In Chapter 3, I proposed a speculative background level for the First Symphony which,
like the Schenkerian Ursatz, could be found replicated on several levels and which
expressed something of the aesthetic of the work as a whole. The linear-harmonic
structure shown in Example 100 offers an analogous background level for The
Inextinguishable. The falling fourth not only spans the three sections of the symphony
discussed above but also plays a role in the foreground, most notably in the ubiquitous
second subject material.
I referred in the previous section to the idyllic quality of the second movement, and this
is something that could be understood to extend to its background structure. The
movement begins with an interrupted descent from ^3 (as shown in Example 103a) and
when the same material returns at the end of the movement the descent continues down
to ^1 (see Example 103b). It is only in this parenthetical pastoral idyll that normative
closural structures are so easy to achieve, and in fact, apart from in the final presentation
of the second subject this is the only such descent in whole work. Note that, as in
Example 102b, the end of the movement sees flatwards slippage the moment that this
descent is over.
Ex. 103a – Nielsen IV, bb. 424-32
Ex. 103b – Nielsen IV, bb. 524-38
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If the various presentations of the first movement‟s second subject (and more generally
motif Y) change from the non-pouvoir être of inability to produce local tonal closure to
the pouvoir être of closure through descent to ^1 (also found in the second movement
descent from ^3), the middleground structures shown in Examples 13-15 effect a
different modal transformation. I characterized the falling thirds at b. 27 (Example 6) as
moving from pouvoir non-être to non-pouvoir non-être as the lack of resolution becomes
harder to assimilate, evidenced by the textural collapse. The middleground structure of
Example 102c, on the other hand, projects a move in the opposite direction. Although
this progression from tonic (A) to dominant (E) can never be tonally closed, as the
symphony progresses the arrival on E is increasingly stable. There is therefore a motion
towards pouvoir non-être – the descending fourth, along with its sharpwards harmonic
progression, is able to be tonally unresolved. On a semiotic square of surmodalization of
être by pouvoir, we thus see a dual move away from the negations (non-pouvoir)
towards the positive terms (pouvoir) on both deep and surface levels.
Fig. 45 – Semiotic square of pouvoir and être
As with my comparisons of foreground motivic categories in the rest of this chapter, I
draw attention to the descending fourths at various levels, not to show (à la White) how
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they guarantee motivic coherence, but because of the role they appear to play in shaping
the overall dynamic of the work. It seems that sharpwards progression is valorised in this
symphony (as I shall discuss in the next section) and, if this is the case, the lack of
tonally open structures becomes not only possible but also positively desirable. This
suggests the possibility of an obligation specific to this symphony (and indeed some
other Nielsen works): the devoir faire of sharpwards „progress‟.
5.4 – Sharpwards and flatwards
I discussed Nielsen‟s (by no means unique) tendency to view flat keys as dysphoric and
sharp ones as euphoric in relation to the Four Temperaments. In The Inextinguishable
this translates into a much more tangible structural conceit: as detailed above, many of
the major formal divisions are marked by immediate and rapid flatwards slippage after
much more fully composed-out sharpwards progression. The importance of this to the
large-scale drama is such that it merits further discussion.
Schenker discusses falling and rising motion by fifth in his treatise on harmony, and
unlike Schubart (quoted in Chapter 4), he considers the expressive significance of the
motion itself rather than of the particular keys to which this motion be directed. He
describes the rising fifth as a „descendant‟ of the fundamental in the harmonic series and
therefore as having a basis in Nature that the falling fifth lacks:
Nature had proposed only procreation and development, an infinite forward motion.
The artist on the other hand, by construing a fifth-relationship in inverse direction,
falling from high to low, has created an artistic counterpart to Nature's proposition: an
involution (1954: 31)
The wider context for this reading is Schenker‟s idea that tonal music is the result of a
constant struggle between Artist and Nature. He explains how „every tone is possessed
of the same urge to procreate infinite generations of overtones ... [and] contains within
itself its own major triad‟ (1954: 28-9). It is from this idea that Schenker develops the
idea of tonicization as an instance of Nature getting the upper hand. He goes on to
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explain the conflicting demands made on the Artist by the procreative urges of the tones
and the need to produce a comprehensible work of art:
On the one hand, he was faced with the egotism of the tones, each of which ...
insisted on its right to its own perfect fifth and major third ... On the other hand, the
common interest of the community that was to arise from the mutual relations of
these tones demanded sacrifices (1954: 30)
As pointed out by Gary Don (1988), this play of forces echoes Goethe‟s notion of
Steigerung in which the tendency for growth and elaboration is countered by
Spezifikationtrieb, which „keeps growth from getting out of hand, from changing the
plant to a point where its form is no longer recognisable‟ (1988: 6). This is relevant to
the wider issue of tonal music becoming so elaborate that its tonality becomes hard to
discern (i.e. non-savoir être). I shall discuss the different ways in which Nielsen‟s Fourth
Symphony can be understood as upsetting this balance of forces in the final section of
this chapter, but for the time being I want to concentrate on rising and falling fifths.
To suggest that rising fifths are somehow more natural – a notion Schenker explicitly
extends to sharpwards and flatwards harmonic progression (see 1954: 32 ff.) – in a sense
inverts our intuitions. Flatwards progression – each step analogous to a perfect cadence –
seems somehow easier than sharpwards motion, which, in order to consolidate, would
necessitate a further step to the new dominant. Schenker‟s idea, however, is that the
sharpwards proliferation is natural – by analogy with biological growth – and that this
process is forcibly reversed by flatwards motion. Nielsen‟s rising-fifth background
structures (incomplete in Schenkerian terms) are thus not so much a matter of struggling
to progress sharpwards against the grain as of letting Nature have her head.
Following this hypothesis for the sake of argument, the challenge would therefore be to
shift the ideal balance between Artist and Nature that Schenker proposes (as exemplified
in the monotonal Ursatz) towards the latter, to free the „natural‟ development of
sharpwards movement without letting music run out of control. This metaphorical
dialectic is particularly appropriate in Nielsen‟s Flute Concerto, which traces the same
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background bass progression to the supertonic as The Inextinguishable. This work
entails a dichotomy between wild unruly forces within the orchestra (particularly the
clarinet and trombone) and a flute part that Simpson suggests „is exquisitely calculated
to suit the character of its dedicatee, inclined to fastidious taste‟ (: 140). This opposition
of the untamed and the fastidious maps well onto Schenker‟s Artist vs. Nature paradigm,
and it is significant in this regard that the unruly trombone provokes two of the most
crucial sharpwards modulations (first movement bb. 80-100 and end of work). When the
flute is allowed to express its more lyrical character it tends to do so on the flat side of
the work‟s tonal spectrum (see for example the Allegretto in G major from b. 93 in the
last movement). Fantastical though it may be, Schenker‟s metaphorical reading of
sharpwards and flatwards motion seems highly appropriate in the case of the Flute
Concerto, and the Fourth Symphony adheres to a related expressive paradigm.
Having considered how the progression around the circle of fifths might be understood
(a syntagmatic view) it is also worth considering how the keys themselves are modalized
(a paradigmatic approach). The constellation of keys used by Nielsen in The
Inextinguishable is quite wide, but only a fairly limited number recur with sufficient
frequency and force to play a decisive role. Figure 46 shows the main contenders in bold
and more minor players in normal type. The keys are arranged in circle of fifths order,
and it is immediately obvious that D is the tonal centre of the work in the sense of a
rough arithmetical mean.
Fig. 46 – Keys from Nielsen IV arranged in fifths
D is at the centre in another sense too - it is the axis around which the work turns.
Simpson suggests in his analyses of Nielsen‟s symphonies that, as a work unfolds, some
keys become very desirable while others become associated with unattractive qualities
such as sloth or danger. In his analysis of the Fourth he generally considers keys on the
flat side of D undesirable and those on the sharp side attractive. C major, for example is
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characterised in the slow movement as „dangerously blissful‟ (1979: 83). This implicit
scale of desirability from C through the circle of fifths to E is one of the most interesting
things about Simpson‟s analysis, since it draws together some previous examples of
these main keys to see how they are modalized.
E major, at the most desirable end of the spectrum, is the key of the final triumphant
pouvoir être at the end of the work (Example 73). Its main earlier appearances project a
temporary contentment (Example 69), a celebration of non-vouloir faire (Example 70b),
and the provisional consolidation of an octave descent in the bass (discussed at the end
of 5.2.3). A major appears in dramatic situations that are still broadly euphoric, but less
so than E major. It is the key of the first tentative appearance of the second subject,
where of course it would be viewed as a textbook dominant to D (Example 70a) and of
the subverted devoir être of the ascent to ^^8 from b. 125 (see end of Example 75). It
also opens the final movement and returns as the themeless glorioso and subsequent
disturbed calm in sections F and G.
It is appropriate that the pivotal D is never unequivocally established; it is not a key that
the piece ever explores at length. At the beginning it is obscured and unstable as a result
of the tritones and conflicting wind and strings lines (first extract, Example 65b), and the
first movement development – also in D – is static and mechanical until animated by
modulation (see Example 77 for the end of this passage). The beginning of the
recapitulation is again obscured, if slightly less so, and the last appearance of D – in the
timpani chords from b. 1059 – is considerably clearer from the score than to the ear
(Example 97).
The two main keys on the flat side of D minor are dysphoric not through excessive
strength or violence but because of their weakness. Apart from its function as a large-
scale dominant from b. 280 as the music sinks into diatonic soup, G major appears most
notably in the unrealistic pastoral idyll of the second movement. In modal terms G major
in this movement ultimately projects vouloir and pouvoir être (see Example 103b) but in
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the context of the struggles of the first movement, and in the light of the immediate
flatwards retreat, there is something unrealistic – even unbelievable – about the sudden
ease with which tonal tensions are resolved. This brings into play the veridictory
modalities discussed in Chapter Three in relation to the first symphony: tensions appear
to be resolved (paraître), but in the wider context of the work this is not the case (non-
être), so the vouloir être is an illusion or lie.
If G major can only achieve the illusion of resolution, C cannot even manage that; it
projects a very low degree of pouvoir in both senses of that term (i.e. in the Tarastian
sense of virtuosity and in its inability to fulfil tensional change). C appears initially as
the first key to emerge out of the chaotic opening of the symphony, but, as shown in
Example 104, it is represented only by an unaccompanied bass line. The dominant-to-
tonic outline of the figure potentially projects vouloir être, but the lack of upper voices
and the non-terminative rhythmic profile result in an overall sense of non-pouvoir être.
Ex. 104 – Nielsen IV, bb. 12-14
Perhaps the most striking modalization of C occurs in the development of the first
movement, however. At b. 300 (Example 81b) a ^5 to ^2 motif fails to produce the
vouloir faire that it does in other contexts, because the texture has become so over-laden
with diatonic dissonance that it has no effect – something I have characterized as a
diatonic soup.
The comparative modal values projected by these various keys tend to support the notion
that sharpwards modulation around the circle of fifths is euphoric and flatwards
dysphoric. A salutary reminder of the fragility of such schemes, however, is found in the
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final gestation of Nielsen‟s Flute Concerto. In its final version, the work, like The
Inextinguishable, ends on a euphoric E major, but in an earlier draft the music from
b. 169 of the last movement in the published score takes the piece in a different direction
and ends in a resounding D major.19
This sort of revision should make us cautious against over-reliance on semantic
interpretations of the sort of large-scale tonal structures outlined here and in the
Schenkerian analyses of the previous section – it is all to easy to infer intentionality
where note in fact exists. Simpson is inclined to use a long-term tonal trajectory as the
backbone of an entire reading, but I think one should at least hesitate before doing so. As
I hope to have shown in this chapter, the effect of the E major ending of The
Inextinguishable relies on a combination of global and local factors involving motivic,
linear, tonal, rhythmic, dynamic and textural parameters. By describing these in terms of
oppositional structures, and mapping them (through the semiotic square) onto modal and
other categories, potential meanings begin to emerge. To hang these on a framework
built on just one parameter, as Simpson tends to do, is to deny the (perhaps
uncomfortable) fact that, with so many different factors in play, one might well slightly
modify one or the other, even including tonal trajectory, without much changing the
overall effect.20
5.5 – Inextinguishable tonality
If music is to be shown to be „inextinguishable‟, there must of course be an attempt to
extinguish it. I have already suggested that one feature subjected to this treatment in the
Fourth Symphony is tonality itself, which at various points and in different ways is
pushed to the verge of disintegration. In particular, distortions and juxtapositions of the
basic motivic categories X and Y sometimes threaten to dissolve the possibility of tonal
19 See CNS69/a
20 In his discussion of Beethoven‟s Ninth, Simpson shows that he is well aware of the dangers of seeing
the end of work as the only possible outcome. He writes: „we must first get rid of an ancient fallacy, that a
great work of music contains its one and only necessary conclusion implied in its beginning‟ (1970: 55).
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resolution. Again, it is intriguing that the very elements that Schenker chooses to stand
for the tonal system in his Ursatz - the rising arpeggio and the falling linear progression -
are those that Nielsen uses here to depict its potential dissolution.
I will explore this dissolution on various semiotic squares, but before moving to this
potentially quite abstract level, I want to point to some concrete examples, all of which
have already been discussed. Example 105 (from the middle of the first movement
development), consists a descending series of broken triads that alternates with
fragments of the second subject, as the music moves rapidly and disjointedly through a
variety of keys.
Ex. 105 – Nielsen IV, bb. 244-9
A little later in the development the molto tranquillo section (Example 106) combines
the same material in a greatly expanded perfect cadence in C major. Motifs Y(b) and
X(b) combine over a double pedal, so that the tensions inherent in the Schenkerian
understanding of tonal space (for example ^3 striving for resolution to ^1) are close to
being absorbed by the level of diatonic dissonance.
Ex. 106 – Nielsen IV, bb. 299-305
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If in Example 106 the dynamic potential of tonality was threatened by paralysing
inactivity, in Example 107 (the mad fugato from the last movement) it is an excess of
activity that disrupts tonal sense.
Ex. 107 – Nielsen IV, bb.730 ff.
I have tended in this dissertation to discuss any breakdown of tonal coherence in terms of
non-savoir être, from the point of view of a notional subject within the musical
discourse which does not rationalize pitch stimuli in terms of the tonal system. This
modal category covers a very wide range of variants, and in order to explore it in more
detail we need to isolate some basic oppositions through which tonality (and its
negations) might be conceptualized.
Some pertinent oppositions are implicit in the often cited letter written by Nielsen about
an analysis of the Third Symphony. The composer asks the author (Henrik Knudsen)
whether there is not a problem with his discussion on the one hand of all the tonalities
constituting a „mortar‟, and on the other hand of „diatonic relationships‟ (i.e. „an
established key or … scalar relationship‟). He goes on to voice the aspiration that „we
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should try at once to get away from keys and yet work convincingly diatonically‟ (cited
in Swanson 1994: 624).21
Nielsen is highlighting two essential qualities of tonal music: the hierarchy of diatonic
scales, and the centripetal force of monotonality (which he is trying to escape from); it is
in these terms that I want to explore the various ways in which tonality might break
down. As before, it is important to stress that the terms on the semiotic square do not
represent absolute points but articulate a complex semantic field; a given object of
analysis will be understood to push towards one position or the other on the various
oppositional axes.
Figure 47 structures the notion of hierarchy and its negations and contradictions onto a
semiotic square. The savoir être of common practice tonality is represented by the first
position on the square. The second position is „equal‟, the contrary of „hierarchical‟: an
equality to which Schoenberg aspires when he discusses the „emancipated dissonance‟
(1978: 323). Like the notion of hierarchy, which is subtly threatened even in the
Classical era, Schoenberg‟s tonal equality is a notional ideal rather than a practical
reality. Dunsby and Whittall define the term „atonal‟ itself as „a (positive) compression
of the phrase “all tones in equality”, representing not so much the absence of something
as the continuous presence of everything‟ (1988: 105). They immediately qualify this,
however, stating that, „of course, atonal music does not literally work like that‟ (: 105-6);
as with Schoenberg‟s emancipated dissonance, the affirmation of this construct only
really makes sense in opposition to the long-established hierarchies of the common
practice era.
Fig. 47 – Semiotic square of musical hierarchy and equality
21 Vi skulde paa engang se at komme bort fra Tonearterne og alligevel virke diatonisk overbevisende.
Letter to Henrik Knudsen 19 August 1913.
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Because the „primitive terms‟ (Greimas and Courtés: 309) of the semiotic square in
Figure 47 are notional ideals, most music will, to some extent, involve their negations.
Even in the strictest serial piece the pitch classes will never be completely equal, but this
may or may not be made an overt feature. The obvious comparison is between the
crystalline structures of Webern‟s piano miniatures (towards the equal end of the
spectrum) and Berg‟s more opulent violin concerto with its self-conscious references to
tonality.
Just as tonal hierarchy extends from the subordination of an appoggiatura to the primacy
of a home key, the centripetal organization of common practice music around a tonic
note or chord applies equally at phrase or piece level. Although there is thus a
considerable overlap between these two terms, hierarchy is particularly evident on the
surface. Centripetal tendencies become more important towards the middleground and
beyond. It is possible, for example, for music that is hierarchical in the immediate
foreground (i.e. triadic and tending to resolve dissonances) to have no discernible centre.
By the same token, a piece might periodically return to a given pitch or chord without
respecting any local tonal hierarchy.
The notion of centripetal forces is predicated on more than merely periodic return, at
least as it applies to tonal music. Monotonality, as William Benjamin has suggested,
entails not just „return to‟ but „motion within‟ (1996: 238); centripetal music does not,
by this definition, cluster around, but prolong, a given pitch by establishing medium and
long-term hierarchies.
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Ernst Kurth explicitly invokes these terms to distinguish between Classical and
Romantic tonal practice. Particularly interesting is his definition of the centrifugal
tendencies in Romantic music, which he divides into two distinct types of „expansion‟:
When several chromatic passing chords link those harmonies necessary for
establishing a tonality, Kurth speaks of exterior tonal expansion ... When the local
chord succession or the harmonic pillars exhibit mediant or other, more remote
relationships, Kurth speaks of interior expansion (Rothfarb 1988: 200).
In other words, our sense of a tonic centre might be obscured by chromatic elaborations
or by strong tonicization of more unusual diatonic scale-steps. In terms of the distinction
made earlier, the first of these might be considered to be more concerned with the
breaking down of tonal hierarchy, whilst the second explicitly threatens our sense of
centredness.
On a more metaphorical level, the notions of centripetal and centrifugal map roughly
onto the Schenkerian distinction between Artist and Nature discussed above. The
„natural‟ urge to proliferate and develop away from a given starting-point (centrifugal) is
counterbalanced by the artistic need to organize around a centre in order to make the
work of art comprehensible (centripetal).
Fig. 48 – Semiotic square of centripetal and centrifugal properties
By moving towards a negation of centripetal forces, the third position on the semiotic
square in Figure 48, Nielsen (and of course other twentieth-century tonalists) upset the
ideal balance proposed by Schenker. On a background level this may result in the non-
concentric structures of progressive tonality, and closer to the foreground it may entail a
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loss of a local centre. An example might be the dense chromaticism of Reger‟s music, in
which, even if the writing is ostensibly tonal, it is hard to discern a key. The negation of
centrifugal forces (the fourth position on the square), on the other hand, can be heard in
tonally static minimalism as exemplified by Terry Riley‟s In C.
Music with much less relation to common practice tonality can also be described in
terms of this network of relationships – for example, the obsessive centripetal tendencies
of Giacinto Scelsi‟s works – but in the present study, the focus is on the subversion of
the centripetal and hierarchical qualities of tonality. The starting-point for these terms
was Nielsen‟s own comments on tonality, and Figure 49 shows how various sections of
the Fourth Symphony can be understood in terms of a semiotic square that combines the
hierarchical and centripetal and their negations.
Fig. 49 – Semiotic square of hierarchical and centripetal properties
It is possible to situate Nielsen‟s aspiration „to get away from keys and yet work
convincingly diatonically‟ on this square: the desire to get away from keys subverts the
monotonality of tonal music (non-centripetal) without abandoning the diatonic hierarchy
that is crucial for most of the expressive nuances discussed in this chapter. This ideal is
thus represented by position two on Figure 49. The extreme mobility of Example 105
(see above) seems to me also to push towards this position, and the effect is certainly
exhilarating. However, this passage cannot provide the closure that the dramatic context
of the Fourth Symphony ultimately aspires to, so we encounter again the issue of
pertinence. The presence or lack of centripetal and hierarchical organization is always
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expressively pertinent in Nielsen‟s music, a notion that is clarified by comparing Figure
49 with a semiotic square that articulates one of Schoenberg‟s ideas (Figure 50).
Fig. 50 – Semiotic square of pertinence and tonality
In positing the emancipation of the dissonance, Schoenberg is essentially concerned with
abolishing the hierarchy of the 12 semitones so that lack of tonal hierarchy is no longer
pertinent. Thus whilst commentators often see dodecaphonic technique as a deliberate
avoidance of tonality (pertinent non-tonality), what Schoenberg is actually aiming for is
the fourth position of Figure 50: the point at which the lack of tonality is no longer
pertinent and dissonances become truly free. In respect of the third position on the square
it is interesting to note what Schoenberg wrote in Style and Idea: „My formal sense …
tells me that to introduce even a single tonal triad would lead to consequences, and
would demand space which is not available within my form‟ (1975: 263). With the tonal
system so culturally embedded he feels that tonal features such as triads will
immediately become pertinent; it is, in other words, impossible for tonality to be non-
pertinent.
In a rather different sense, the Allegretto of The Inextinguishable attempts the illusion of
non-pertinent tonality. The Symphony retreats into a pastoral idyll where normative tonal
hierarchy is no longer threatened. If, for Schoenberg, the pertinence of these hierarchies
intrudes upon the sort of music he wants to write, for Nielsen this completely
unthreatened tonality is ultimately an illusion but nevertheless an important expressive
resource.
In terms of Figure 49, the Allegretto second movement is governed by the hierarchical
and centripetal norms of common-practice tonality (the first position on the square), as
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are such passages as the main presentation of the second subject in the first movement.
The music shown in Example 105 (from the first movement) is made up of diatonic
fragments, but they move too quickly to have any sense of relationship even to a local
tonic, and this can represented by the second position on the square. Example 106 (the
„diatonic soup‟, also from the first movement) pushes towards the third position - we are
clearly centred around C, but the tonal hierarchy is threatened by the mass of diatonic
dissonances. Finally, the fugato section (Example 107) pushes towards the fourth
position on the square - so chromatic that it is hard to distinguish a local point of
reference, let alone a global one.
A broader perspective would situate the background of progressive tonal schemes in
general on the second position of the square - basically diatonic, but not monotonal - and
it is interesting that this is also the position where Nielsen‟s aspiration for diatonic
mobility is cited above is situated, which he goes on to characterize as a „great yearning
for freedom‟ (cited in Swanson 1994: 624).22 It is also interesting that „non-pertinent
non-tonality‟ on Schoenberg‟s square (the fourth position) is his holy grail whereas for
Nielsen, the equivalent position (non-hierarchical non-centripetal) is the source of dark
and menacing forces.
5.6 – Yearning for freedom, desiring closure
Schoenberg‟s ideas, as represented on the square at Figure 50, represent a dialectical
process aimed at liberating the dissonance. Nielsen, on the other hand, seems more
concerned to subsume all the positions into his dramatic scheme. Nielsen
problematicizes what Schoenberg rejects. The pertinence of tonal gestures that
Schoenberg seeks to escape is central to the drama of Nielsen‟s Fourth Symphony.23
However threatened, whenever the diatonic motivic categories of Y and X appear they
22 en stræben efter Frihed. Letter to Henrik Knudsen 19 August 1913.
23 It could be seen as disingenuous to compare a theoretical position with a compositional reality, but
Schoenberg did, after, go a long way towards putting his ideas into practice.
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suggest the possibility of tonal resolution, and it is a suggestion that, for Nielsen, is
irresistible, even inextinguishable.
The achievement of tonal stability in the foreground at the end of the Fourth Symphony
is set against the background of a structure that defies the subordinating role of the tonic,
and this reflects a wider tension in Nielsen‟s aesthetic. As early as 1905 Nielsen was
writing that „if I am not greatly mistaken the future will reject our modern keys, minor
and major, as inadequate to the expression of the mental and emotional life of the
modern human being‟,24 and there is a dichotomy between this „yearning for freedom‟ in
the first five symphonies and the affirmative tonal closure to which Nielsen is
nevertheless drawn at the end of these works.
Nielsen‟s desire to break away from the language of major-minor tonality could be
understood in terms of the traditional Saussurian opposition between langue and parole
– in Greimas‟s formulation, the „freedom of speech‟ in opposition to the „closure of
language‟ (1983: 85). In recognizing, like most more recent commentators, the fluid
relationship between system and usage, the anthropologist Marshall Sahlins posits a
„dual existence and interaction between the cultural order as constituted in the society
and as lived in by the people‟ (1985: ix).25 In musical terms, this would suggest that
tonal praxis inevitably involves subjecting the cultural categories associated with tonality
to „empirical risks‟ (Sahlins 1985: ix). From this perspective, Nielsen‟s exploration of
the boundaries of tonality becomes a dramatization of the interaction between tonal
langue and parole that extends the Classical interest in writing music about music. In the
fracturing of tonal „reality‟ that one sees in, for instance, Example 105, there is also a
24 og jeg skulde tage meget Fejl, om ikke Fremtiden vil forkaste vore moderne Tonearter, Moll og Dur,
som utilstrækkelige til at udtrykke et moderne Menneskes Tanke af Følelses-Liv. John Fellow (ed.), Carl
Nielsen til sin samtid, Copenhagen 1999, pp. 50-51.
25 Sahlins‟ study is not concerned with music but with changing meanings within and between cultures. At
the centre of the first part of the book is an analysis of Captain Cook‟s fatal return to Hawaii.
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self-referential exploration of convention through distortion that recalls some of the pre-
occupations of Cubism.
The tension between yearning for freedom and the irresistibility of closure might be
explained in Schenkerian terms in relation to the opposition between Art and Nature, in
which the proliferation of natural growth is checked by „conceptual abbreviation‟ of the
artist (Schenker 1954: 28). As with Goethe‟s notion of Steigerung (see p. 311 above),
where growth is checked in order to ensure integrity of form, Schenker suggests that, in
taking the overtone series as a starting-point, „the artist had no choice but to create an
image in reduced proportions of the over-life-sized phenomenon of nature‟ (1954: 28).
Having predicted the demise of the major-minor tonal system, Nielsen explicitly goes on
to suggest quarter-tones as a way forward – the „conceptual abbreviation‟ will no longer
meet expressive requirements. 26
For Schenker everything in tonal music can ultimately be reconciled to the unifying force
of the Ursatz, but despite the foreground tonal resolution with all the works discussed in
this dissertation end, there is still no overall structural tonal closure – the predetermined
unity of Schenkerian monotonality is vigorously denied. In privileging overall closure as
an artistic principle, Schenker asserts that art offers a fulfilment that is rarely achieved in
life (1979: xxiv). Nielsen‟s passionate belief that „music is life‟ (cited in Røllum-Larsen
2000: xv)27 suggests that he might have resisted Schenker‟s line of thought. Nielsen is
drawn to affirmative tonal closure, but this enters into a tension with his desire for
freedom from the constraints of tonality, a tension that is productive precisely because it
is irreconcilable.
In the First Symphony, for example, the energizing tension created by the juxtaposition
of G minor and C major is incompatible with final stable closure. Although Nielsen
ultimately settles for the latter, the vouloir faire of the intruding flattened seventh
26 See continuation of above quotation in cited Hauge 2000: xxv.
27 Musik er Liv. Nielsen, 1931.
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persists in disrupting the vouloir être of closure until almost the final bars. In this
context, the eventual unsullied perfect cadence appears as a final act of authorial will,
foregrounding the artifice of tonal closure. Whilst for Schenker, then, an ideal balance of
forces and the inevitable trajectory towards stable closure is established before a piece
even begins, for Nielsen it appears that such closure is an existential choice, made at a
specific point in the work.
The Inextinguishable invites such a reading much more strongly. The audible wrench of
the timpani glissando at b. 1108, and the accelerando into the final Tempo giusto would
both be potential candidates for the moment at which Nielsen, having saved normative
tonal closure until it is nearly too late, has audibly to wrestle the music back from the
brink. It is maybe this authorial intrusion that makes Tyler White uncomfortable enough
to dismiss the final progression into E major in The Inextinguishable as a
miscalculation.28 Perhaps he is also motivated by a comparison with the end of the Fifth
Symphony, in which the final affirmation engulfs what has gone before. „The life-force
[in the fifth] is surging‟ as Fanning writes, and „virtually every force previously
associated with a negative psychic disposition has contributed to a triumph which is truly
earned‟ (1997: 76). The Inextinguishable, however, has a different story to tell; it
plunges its elemental (and basically tonal) motivic material into the flames in order to
brandish them at the end defiant and triumphant.
28 See opening of this chapter, p. 251.